Bye, bye blog!

My time in Hawaii cleared my head, despite the copious amounts of rum consumed. (Whoa!) I had an epiphany there: the time has come for me to re-prioritize myself. I realize I don’t have enough time for everything I want and need to do, so… I need to take a break from the blog. It’s hard not to feel wistful as writing has been such a great release for me. All the trials of moving to Napa and starting Red House - wow, what an adventure! And writing about situations with clients has helped me grow as a business owner. Looking back, over more than a year of blogging, I think I have matured too – losing patience a little less than in my bad old days in New York. Lately though, after the kids are asleep, I find that I’m typing away while Michael watches ESPN. The kids need a mother who is less sleep-deprived, and Michael needs…a wife (!). My work at Red House is even more demanding now, with Michael’s bank projects in Charlotte. And while life will be easier in many ways with Kat, our new au pair around, I need to spend time helping her adjust to our family quirks and right-side drive.

So, if I’m not blogging, then what? I have some ideas.

Pizza Beat-Downs - Once a week, on Kat’s night off, the family will create a signature pizza. I will not fear flour and its tendency to end up everywhere! And, this summer I’m hoping to build an outdoor wood-fired pizza oven to recreate our favorites.

Start “Natalie Nights” - Regularly scheduled evenings out with my niece. I think it’s time we get to know each other better.

Become a student - I will enroll in wine and food courses at St. Helena’s Culinary Institute of America (ciachef.edu/California). No more excuses not to, and I can walk there from my house!

Spend occasional weekends in Charlotte - Surprising Michael when he’s there - with an overnight bag and nothing more! BlackBerry will stay home. You get the idea.

Get a Puppy? - This is my least thought-out and least favorite plan. Maybe I’ll have Nat set up an aquarium for us instead.

Host Wine Blending Parties - With knowledge from the C.I.A. classes, I will invite Red House clients to partake in a little liquid chemistry lab. We may mix up something great!

Read! – Every last airport book I’ve bought and merely skimmed!

Create and innovate – Spend more time on inspiration for Red House. Where will the next ideas come from – India? Australia? Even if I can’t get there I can read, see films and explore art forms. San Francisco will be a great source of material. And speaking of creating, maybe I’ll get the Red House fragrance designed. (If so, can I take a tax write-off for my garage space?)

Live more of the dream – My love affair with Napa endures, and I want to experience more of everything this fabulous region has to offer. The lifestyle is Red House, and our goal is to be the finest customized corporate clothing company out there.

In closing, I especially want to thank my clients for choosing Red House in its infancy and sticking with us as we have adapted and evolved. Stay tuned – there’s much more ahead! Thanks for appreciating our commitment to quality and attention to detail and customer service. I will endeavor to always keep Red House ahead of the curve and leave my competitors to cut corners. (The buttons that break and the fabrics that pill will not be what we are known for.) Keep counting on me - I won’t let you down!

From the heart of Red House,

-Maddie

Instant Aloha.

This is the life! I am next to a small pool surrounded by verdant tropical foliage. Just me, Michael, my laptop and two mai tais - light on the pineapple juice. Somewhere, a waterfall beckons to be explored. (So what if it’s fake!) It feels like we’re in the middle of a jungle and not the meandering, interconnected pools of the Grand Hyatt Resort in Kauai (www.kauai.hyatt.com). THIS IS JUST AMAZING! My first trip to Hawaii! It would not have been practical during my years as a New Yorker as the travel time would have consumed much of the vacation. Ah, the joys of living on the west coast! Michael and I actually had a direct flight from SF that was just a tad over five hours. And unlike in the Caribbean, I’m not hearing New York accents or experiencing the fussy intensity and predilections for obnoxiousness. (Traits I’ve been working out one by one since I moved to Napa, as you know.) Maybe the easterners are here but subdued, and like us, stretched out on very comfortable lounge chairs shaded by big umbrellas, with cocktails and novels in hand (or laptops!). The real difference between them and us? They are trying to get tan, as they don’t know when they’ll have another opportunity!

It feels like we’ve escaped! It’s a little bit of a guilty feeling, but we really did make a last minute decision to come here. In a more robust economy, everything would be booked up and a last-minute trip wouldn’t have been possible. Kat had settled in (sort of). Well, she knew how to get the kids to and from school and where to buy groceries. Michael had nothing immediate on his calendar with the bank, and there was nothing pressing enough at Red House that I couldn’t take six days away. Besides, Kerin will call if I need to step in. So, with the stars aligned, we threw some things together and just LEFT. Not in a long time have I been so excited to get on a plane! I was like a kid! Even the packing was easy: our Red House Honeycomb Piqué Polos (RH02 for me and RH01 for Michael) are perfect for tennis, golf next door at Poipu, and exploring Waimea Canyon. All of which will happen…later (!). And that’s pretty much all we have planned. Oh, and lots more of this poolside time. I’ve never spent so much time in a bathing suit, ever!

I really get now why people always refer to Hawaii as paradise. Near-perfect weather, incredible scenery, and a relaxed approach to life – what’s not to love? It would take me a while to miss the mainland. However, being here has made me even more enamored of Napa, which is close enough to paradise for me. And besides, local winemaking leaves a lot to be desired. The sparkling pineapple “champagne” we bought in the hotel gift shop was really, really, bad!

Time to float down the lazy river to the pool bar. If not for need of rum we’d get no exercise at all. Ahhh…

Family of Five!

The time has come to add another person to our household. No, no - I do not mean a BABY! What were you thinking?! (I don’t even have time for the dog that the kids keep asking for!) The term for our addition is au pair. As soon as Michael started interviewing in Charlotte, I did the proactive thing and started the process of finding someone I could count on to be there for Delia and Andrew 24/7. No other option, unless there are elementary boarding schools. (I think they call them orphanages!) I need to be able to travel for Red House whenever, and had to assume that Michael would be gone part of the time too. As it turns out, he’s already away on a project for the bank – all week. Good thing I’m home right now. In fact, today I’m literally home, cleaning out the refuse from Natalie’s room. By tomorrow it will be spotless, every last cigarette butt and beer bottle gone, because someone is moving in!

The au pair I found sounds great, really ideal, but I had to interview eight candidates before I found the qualities I was looking for. And even if she is perfect, I can’t get too comfortable because this is only a one-year program, after which she’ll return home to continue her education. Once home, she will probably want to gather her friends and classmates around the campfire to extol the virtues of Napa. And over time, she will unlearn whatever bad habits she might have picked up crossing paths with Natalie. Let’s not even think about that right now!

Here are a few highlights from my phone interviews with a few of the runners up:

Irina from Ukraine: Seemed a little too disappointed that Napa wasn’t a suburb of L.A. Sorry, Iri, weekends clubbing in Hollywood are not an option.

Marta from Costa Rica: Very close to graduating from college and didn’t sound serious about committing to a whole year. And why would a Petroleum Engineer want to be an au pair anyway?

Neha from India: Does not drive, which is not what it said on her application!

Kirsten from Norway: She cried! I asked what her biggest fear was if she took the job and she said missing her family. (Next year I’ll check to see if she’s available, and whether she’s outgrown the apron strings – I liked her otherwise.)

And the winner is (drum roll!) ---- Kat from Scotland! I liked her accent. Well, and she just sounded really bubbly, capable and kid-oriented. Even better: she wants to be a Child Psychologist. That should be handy with our man Andrew and his kindergarten antics! And how about the cultural advantages of having someone from another country around?! She can teach us about the history of clans, plaids, moors, golf and single malts. And cook oats and haggis! (Or not…) And hmmm… I wonder if Kat might like dogs. What better time, right? I won’t spring that idea on her right away!

Viva la Venison!

It happened so fast, a couple of seconds and - SCREEEEEECH!!!!!! It had been a basic morning and I was taking Delia and Andrew to school. Suddenly, there was a beige blur in front of my windshield to which I reacted with an expert skid (aided by a combination of coffee and adrenaline) - but then, AGAIN - another beige blur and my BMW landed in a drainage ditch as the kids screamed in horror. Damn Bambi! There were two of them, actually. The first darted across the road anticipating the best opportunity for impact inflicting maximum bodily damage. Things weren’t going well in the woods? Overcrowding maybe? Not enough grapes. (Not enough grapes?!) But s/he wasn’t exactly accurate. Nor was s/he planning to exit this world alone. No, no, a pact had been made with Bambi No. 2, the one I didn’t see until too late.

Once in the ditch we were quiet for a few seconds, stunned. I reached around the handy air bag and made sure the kids were ok. The car was almost sideways and the booster seats had done their jobs of keeping them in place. I remembered that after an accident you are supposed to turn off the engine, which I did. Then, as if on cue, the kids started crying loudly. OMG - did I hit that deer?! I think I only nicked it. But nicked is bad… Delia wailed about me killing it. I remember seeing a crazy coal-black eye and – that’s it.

I called Michael and the police, crawled up and out the passenger door, and then got the kids out. There was no way a basic tow truck would be getting this car out, but I’d let AAA worry about that. Delia wanted to look for the dead deer (!) and Andrew wanted to be picked up. He’s too big for that so he took my hand and we looked around. I was wearing heels, which are not what you wear looking for deer. At least I didn’t sink in as I did when Michael ran out of gas. There were treed areas on both side of the road and I made a mental note to see if a deer crossing sign could be put up here. Anyway, no sign of death or dismemberment, but I wasn’t going to go too far into the woods and risk finding a dying deer – or worse, a meth lab!

The police arrived and looked for signs of blood evidence on my car and surrounding area. None. Was I sure I “nicked” something? (The officer actually used his fingers to make those little quotation marks when he asked.) Did he think I was distracted by my cell phone or typing on my BlackBerry, and that’s why the accident?! If so, he didn’t actually say it. I asked if the officers would please go look in the woods to check for carnage. They said they would, but did they? I didn’t hear back. The car appeared to be pretty much intact, but the alignment was almost certainly in need of adjustment after that tumble.

Once we were in his car, Michael told me to look in the vanity mirror – I had scratches on my face from the airbag! That’s when I noticed my ribs hurt too - all of them. The kids said they were ok to go to school so we dropped them off, and warned the principal about potential post-traumatic stress symptoms. Michael took me home for aspirin and a cleaning up, and then to get a rental car as I had plenty of Red House meetings to get to and deliveries to make. I was shaken though, and the day seemed awfully long. I was very happy to get into a hot bath later. Michael, in an attempt at gallows humor, brought me an empty glass of wine and returned with a bottle of Stag’s Leap! It was the Gypsy Camp Napa Valley red wine blend (www.stagsleap.com), chosen to help me heal and reconnect with the natural world, as the gypsies once did on Stag’s Leap land. (Huh?!)

I promised the kids that next weekend we’d go to the “crash site” to leave flowers and say goodbye - or good luck, as applicable - to “unknown beige deer” or “Jane Doe”(!). I will say that I hope he or she is still with us, and thankful to be alive and running in the beautiful Napa Valley – on one side of the road only. Cross no more, fair woods-dweller, and may your nick heal quickly!

Career Opportunities x 3.

Yes! Which is to say the answer is NO! Michael’s mega bank potential employer has decided to reopen its search for a dedicated full time employee! It didn’t say no to him, it just said maybe later, dude. And meanwhile, it would like to utilize Michael’s talents as a consultant on specific projects. He can do it all, right? Focus on Red House numbers while advising the bank now and then? This I like - as it means no major changes at home or Red House - for now, anyway. What an instant mood elevator and anxiety reducer! (And I’ve needed it!) I told him I might even be willing to hop a plane to Charlotte with my overnight bag if he’s working on something. Meanwhile, I’m thinking a celebratory “bullet-dodged” dinner at Martini House and a nice bottle of Anderson Valley’s Roederer Brut Rosé are in order – Cheers!

And there’s yet more employment news to report as niece Natalie has taken a first step towards a career involving her love of marine life. It is a small step, but could be significant in both determining her interest level and coming up with a longer-range plan of action. Nat’s going to spend her mornings taking care of office fish! She’ll be driving a van full of chemicals and “replacements” to various medical and dental offices, recovery centers (!) and managed care facilities where tanks of active finned friends add a measure of calm, color and distraction to people’s lives. She’ll clean and feed and tend to the dead (fish only!) as necessary. There’s a larger variety of critters swimming in tanks here in the twin valleys than I would have guessed, and maintaining the correct ph levels in salt and freshwater, and learning what swims well with others will be part of Nat’s day. I think it’s great! Afternoons she’ll still be helping out at Stefan’s parents’ winery. So, this is going to be a very busy 20 year old and I can also take comfort in that. And I bet my sister and her husband are having their own celebratory dinner for this milestone.

Finally, we made Kerin’s day by formally changing her job title from Receptionist to Client Relations Manager, with new business cards to prove it. There’s a raise too, which came earlier so she could qualify for the loan on the condo she’s buying. She’ll continue to be my right hand on client contact and new business development, plus gaining more experience as my design assistant – too much for one person’s business card. For now though, she still has to answer the phones!

Goin’ to Grgich.

Here’s a winery that’s easy to find and hard to leave – Grgich Hills Estate, located in Rutherford just off Hwy 29, parallel to the Silverado Trail (www.grgich.com). Founder Mike Grgich, though not mentioned in Bottle Shock, is the winemaker who crafted the 1973 Chateau Montelena Napa chardonnay that stunned the world by winning the1976 blind tasting in Paris. His wine beat out the fabled white Burgundies of France, and not only gave Mike instant stardom in the wine world but also secured Napa’s place forever on the map of world-class winemaking. There would be no looking back to hippie roots and laid back winemaking techniques, bong over-use and tasting from Mason jars. That’s what Bottle Shock would have you believe Napa was all about before 1976. I prefer to think it was mostly just a quieter place of fewer wineries and small-yield vintners doing their own thing - some perhaps waiting for that big break that did come. The tasting triumph took Napa from a sleepy hamlet to the huge business that it is today. (Though it would have been fun to experience it in the hippie era…)

When you visit the Grgich Hills tasting room, you might even see Mike Grgich in his trademark blue beret, though he’s in his mid-“80’s now and leaving the heavy lifting to daughter and winemaker, Violet, and his nephew Ivo. He’s earned the right to rest on his laurels, having been inducted into the Vintner’s Hall of Fame. He’s big on philanthropy too, supporting Napa causes via the annual wine auction, as well as in his leadership efforts to eradicate land mines in his native Croatia. (Referred to as “replacing mines with vines”!) And Grgich wines have been enjoyed at state dinners by U.S. presidents, Queen Elizabeth, and even the very French (!) François Mitterrand.

There’s nothing not to like at Grgich Hills Estate. All fruit used in their six wines is from their own vineyards. Innovation is key; so all 366 acres are certified organic and have been converted to biodynamic growing techniques. And, the winery is solar-powered.

While the signature wine at Grgich Hills Estates continues to be its inimitable chardonnay (one of my very top favorites to splurge on!) you will find the same supreme commitment to craft in their other wines. But on the subject of the chard, keep in mind that the Grgich is a sublime experience in the lighter, French winemaking tradition - not the BIG, firecracker fruit of (the also beloved) Rombauer chardonnay. These are two very different experiences. And make sure you try the richly powerful Grgich Zinfandel, the grape, Mike believes, originated in Croatia as the Crljenak. (Don’t ask me to pronounce it as it took me a year just to get Grgich right!) Another wine I love is their complex and airy Fumé Blanc – it’s easy to pair with food. Their Cabernet Sauvignon holds its own in a valley of masterful cabs. There’s a Merlot too, which I have not yet tried – sorry. And for dessert, Violetta, named for Mike’s daughter. It’s one of the most complex wines in the dessert category, and a very special treat. Serve this with some cheese biscuits and your guests will never want you to bake again.

Oh, you know how I said I am opposed to purchasing items for White Elephant parties? I had to break my own edict when I saw a Mike Grgich bobblehead for sale in the tasting room. But how will I be able to part with it?!

The monkey woman and me.

Never underestimate women of a certain age who have their priorities etched in stone. I’ll know better next time. I found myself with a client I thought I understood. Someone fun and free-spirited like my mother. In fact, she was referred by my mother, who met her at a yoga class on her last visit to Calistoga Ranch. My new client headed a chapter of an organization she said was much like the Red Hat Society. You’ve seen that group – red hats, purple and red clothing and accessories, a visual proclamation that they would not go quietly into old age nursing their regrets. Instead, they are about celebrating (or distracting themselves from) the ravages of time with book discussions, historical tours and many, many gin and tonics over brunch. My client’s organization was a less visible version of this group with pretty much the same reason for being. They wear something red, but not fire engine red, and no purple is paired with it. They fancy themselves closer to Indiana Jones than Patti La Belle, favoring the kind of the upscale safari look – silk blend olive drab cargo pants and fishing vests that Banana Republic used to be about in the “80’s. (Also when Abercrombie and Fitch was where golfers shopped!) She said they do more than celebrate themselves and are currently sponsoring an endangered frog in Madagascar. Got to like that!

The group wanted jackets and loved almost everything about the Red House Pima Interlock Jacket (RH08). Especially that it was lightweight, very soft and featured slimming princess lines. And Ruby was just the right, subtle shade of red for them. My client asked for no embroidered crest or logo. Instead, she had commissioned her own zipper pulls, that she presented to me – little silver monkeys, which she said suggested both whimsy and unpredictability. I told her we could replace our embossed leather zipper pulls with them, no problem. (Red House’s first improvisation involving monkeys!) Squinting very closely at the monkey face I saw a look of utter seriousness; I should have taken that to heart.

What the ladies did not like about the Pima Jacket was that it had full-length sleeves. It needed to have bracelet length sleeves to afford a few inches of forearm freedom, as they were always on the go. Besides, they wear watches and compasses and like to show off bracelets they purchase at craft fairs and souks around the world. (Really, they go to souks?!) Well, the whole purpose of a jacket, it seems to me, and which I mentioned, is to cover up for the purposes of warmth or modesty. She would not budge. I suggested they roll up the sleeves, á la Rosie The Riveter. She didn’t like the analogy, and mentioned that she was still in grammar school during Rosie’s WWII welding reign. (Oops!) We had reached an impasse and it took me slightly longer than it should have to say, “We can make those shorter sleeves a reality for you.” I was protectively clinging to the idea of Red House designs as my babies, and the client was right to ask for what she needed. And you know what? I liked the abbreviated look. Who knows - Red House may consider a line of bracelet length jackets, shirts and sweaters.

Get this, a couple weeks later I got a postcard… from Madagascar! My client and several from their group went to see how their frog was faring! In an effort to ensure I will be that adventurous in my 70’s, I tried on my own Red House pima jacket in Ruby with a purple T-shirt underneath, but nah, the look was not for me. I don’t do monkeys either.

Shock in Charlotte.

I found myself unable to concentrate on anything while I was waiting for Michael to get the reaction of the Big Bank to the unusual “Napa lifestyle preservation” request. (I prefer DEMAND to request, but I’m not there.) He said he’d call me right away, but hours went by without a call. Kerin and I actually had a great brainstorming session on creative and cost-effective ways to keep clients happy and thinking about us. We came up with lots of new ideas to remind them of our commitment to quality and service. I might send individual postcards from my next trip to China, like, “Wish you were here – to see the fabulous silk piqué I just found!” And how about wine tasting or blending parties? Maybe have a local chef come and teach us to prepare a famous dish. Again, we will be doing follow up calls to see how well received our product was. And we are going to try to get clients to send us group shots of their employees, fellow committee members and families wearing their Red House shirts, sweaters, etc. Or, we’d volunteer to take pictures ourselves, for an album in our reception room. Testimonials would be nice to have also. And after last year’s harried but successful delivery of shirts with changed cork-like buttons (plus a light breakfast to each wine grower-recipient’s hotel room!) we want to do more along the lines of memorable deliveries. (But maybe less stressful than that night’s efforts!) We also talked strategy for seeking new business. We can always do more of that. Wine country events, country clubs, organizations – there’s lots of untapped work out there for Red House. Too bad Michael wasn’t there to participate in our meeting!

Finally, my cell phone buzzed with news from Charlotte. Apparently, he shocked the bank, which had no idea that Michael had any intention of less than a fulltime-and-forever commitment. As Michael is not big on expressing conflict, it does not surprise me that they had no clue. In fact, they had just presented him with a big envelope of relocation info, including real estate listings and glossy private school brochures when he brought up the caveats. So now, Human Resources needs to have a sit-down with the captains and figure out how (or if) they can utilize Michael in their organization. I have to hand it to him though, he had completely thought through his negotiation strategy before meeting with them today. (And I thought he was lame with details!) He specified a three-day workweek, flying east every Sunday and back to Napa Wednesday nights. It may not have been what I had wanted him to counter with, but it could work. And he made sure that what he could do for them, even with less of a time commitment, was emphasized very carefully. We await their next move. Me, from the edge of my seat on needles and pins. Michael, from his perpetual state of calm. Where does that come from?! Sigh.

A Dose of D&D

There’s another tasting room you must have on your list – Eric Ross Winery on the Sonoma side in Glen Ellen. Check it out: www.ericross.com. Michael and I discovered it one sunny Sunday when we were just tourists and we’ve been going back for the wine – and the conversation - ever since.

The winery was started by John Ross Storey and Eric Luse, two San Francisco newspaper photographers who probably met while jockeying for position to get the best shot of something interesting. (And believe me, there’s always something interesting in SF!) Or maybe love of wine brought them together, I’ll have to find out. Either way, they became successful winemakers, and that does not usually happen for a couple of regular folks. Curiously, the winery website offers sparse details about the two. Sounds kind of like they found themselves on a hill overlooking scenic vineyards and declared themselves winemakers. They combined their names and rest is awards history. As a business owner I’d say there’s more to the story, and I wish Red House had had such an easy birth. There’s a photo of the smiling pair on the website, and all that’s missing are Red House shirts. (Well, I had to say that!)

Dennis and Diane are the tasting room managers. They are the real deal. They know their wines and each other. How do they survive working together like that?! I mean, I work with my husband too - but not THAT close. And even though Michael and I are usually in agreement on business decisions, there are times the travel aspect of my job is a welcome escape. (Sorry for wanting to throttle you sometimes, Michael.) Let’s just say that like all couples, we prefer to handle life’s little details in vastly different ways.

And so do D&D, as they call themselves. They’ve been married a lonnnng time, and fortunately, each copes with the other's quirks with humor - at least while we’ve been watching (!!) I wonder how they’d handle the arrival of a limousine full of tipsy tourists right at closing time after a busy summer day… Would one of them run to the back room and hide? That’s what I’d do! (And this is why D&D haven’t asked Michael and me to fill in so they could have a weekend away.)

Our favorite Eric Ross wine is the Poulet D’Or Pinot Noir. The Russian River Valley pinots are something Michael and I do agree on, and the photographers know how to make this wine. Do a side-by-side comparison of the Eric Ross pinots from the different vineyards – see if you can taste the influences of the soil and climate. Another delight is the Marsane-Rousanne, a lovely summer-drinking white wine with a minerality that reminds me of France. I also enjoy their 2007 viognier. I’d compare it the 2006 and 2007, if only I had saved any. Sigh. Even if you don’t live nearby, their wine club is a good one - offering 20% off, and as Rooster Club members we also get to attend winery events pairing the wines we love with foods we wish we could make. D&D have a knack for the complex recipes, but so far, they’ve not attempted anything with rooster meat.

Out of gas and out of mind.

Michael. Wonderful husband and father, Type B banking guy, good with numbers except ZERO, as in no gas, no fumes, no luck - start walking! That was my man last week. And why?! I’ve been thinking about this for days. A fluke? A brain focused on the Charlotte job? Must be that, as the gauge works fine and it had been pointing to “E” for a while.

We were on our way to the San Francisco Symphony (www.sfsymphony.org) for an evening that promised to take us away from thoughts of a fragmented life in Charlotte. Plus, it’s winter, even here, and as mild as it is I’m ready for spring - and music is nothing if not transcendental. We dressed up, as about half the people do at the symphony. The other half, well…anything goes in SF. At one chamber music concert there was a guy in a delicate ladies’ slip accessorized with rustic (!) turquoise jewelry.... (???!)Anyway, we had reservations at Farallon (farallonrestaurant.com), one of my favorite seafood restaurants and with décor inspired by Nautilus himself. This was going to be an incredible evening!

Except for a pesky gap between expectation and reality. We were maybe five miles from the house. I was using my BlackBerry to email myself reminders for the next day when the car suddenly sputtered and died. There wasn’t a warning, a few coasting miles of realization that the end was near, it simply was. I may have used some colorful language as we slowed to a dead stop, however unusual that might be for me. Now what? It was dark, and we were obviously not anywhere near a gas station. We were in my car so I knew there was a gas can in back, but no, not any more, it turns out, Michael had removed it to get gas for the lawn mower months ago and did not replace it – ahhhh! Just like my toolbox, good scissors and my dental floss! I was madder than ever and stepped out of the car to think, and as I did, my feet made a thwook sound – I realized to my horror that I had stepped into about 6” of mud in my Jimmy Choo pumps! Yes, I got them on sale, but Jimmy Choos!!! At this point I yelped (or screamed, according to Michael). He got out to help me and the submerged shoes back into the car. I had adopted a childish “don’t touch me” posture and I’m sure my face was a rictus of fury. He retrieved the roll of paper towels I keep in the back seat. Funny, he hadn’t removed that also. As I was occupied, angrily cleaning off the muddy suede, Michael wisely decided to seek help for our predicament and/or seek safe distance from Mad Maddie.

One thing about Michael that has always irked me is his luck. He just has this ability to turn lemons into lemonade. (I hate that expression.) And so, not ten minutes later he was back, smiling. He had flagged down a truck of farm workers, and without speaking a word of Spanish he managed to communicate his dilemma and gave them money for a can of gas. I knew he believed we’d be off in a few minutes. Sure enough, the Saviors of Chevron returned with fuel, and Michael gave them a nice tip. But we weren’t off in a few minutes, as it proved nearly impossible to open the new can’s nozzle. Michael wrestled with it, using some colorful language of his own, even (gross!) attempting to bite off the cap, then digging at it with the corkscrew from the glove box. (Had we had a flashlight he would have seen the “squeeze and turn” instructions I noticed the next day.) He finally succeeded and we were off. No time for dinner, but drinks were what mattered at that point – after a stop at Saks for shoes. (I walked in wearing the damaged shoes, not trusting Michael to choose a replacement pair for me.)

The concert was great, a real treat. And afterward, we shared a late-night seafood platter at Farallon’s stylish bar. What I’ll remember most about this evening though was the aftermath of hanging up 22 button-down shirts, after midnight, in various spots in and outside the house to air out noxious gas fumes. (The neighbors must have thought I was nuts, but it wouldn’t be the first time.) The shirts had been in the trunk that evening because they were ready to be delivered to a client. The gas can, thanks to an abused nozzle, had leaked its last pungent drops into the trunk. (Grrrr, Michael!)

What fun to clean up.

Ugh. I have taken the opportunity of a few rainy days with not too much going on at work to try to get both workspace and home organized. There are few chores I despise more as it pains me to get rid of things. Any things. But when I lived in New York, hoarding wasn’t an option; there simply wasn’t space to stash 12 extra rolls of paper towels or a cool table spotted at the Chelsea flea market. Ski gear? We always rented. Here, I am ashamed to admit, it didn’t take long to change entirely. We even rented a small storage unit to hold holiday décor and some of the overflow, which is to say I’m no longer saying no to great flea market finds, two chandeliers (so far!) that I might use one day and classic books I might read. Furnishings for the Red House boutique taking shape in my imagination are also accumulating. I know it’s wrong. And I can’t seem to say goodbye to any samples I’ve collected at work. Whether it’s a zipper style, fabric, thread color or button size not currently in use, it MAY be ideal next year or ten years from now and I’ll be glad I saved it, right? And what about Andrew and Delia’s artistic endeavors – can I really throw out their heartfelt smears of poster paint on kraft paper?! Not yet, I’m afraid.

So what did I accomplish? Well, a couple of things. After reading Getting Organized (another airport find!) I began to take action on each piece of paper as soon as I got it so the paperwork wouldn’t accumulate. School schedules, invitations – all get entered in my master calendar hasta pronto. And I made a visible dent in clutter by going room to room with an eye on elimination. Not the clean sweep the experts advised, but hey, it was a three-day effort when three weeks might have been warranted. I do feel good about donating some winter clothes I was hanging onto. Who knows, some local family might move some place where down coats are actually necessary. By giving them up I feel even more a part of life in Napa. Like when I gave up Andrew’s high chair, I knew I was done with babies. And with all the travel I do for Red House I’ve accumulated quite the stash of tiny toiletries. From now on these are going to a shelter for women and children, who could use a little luxury in their lives. In the kitchen I asked myself, “How many spatulas is enough?” Turns out to be three: one in each size. Now the drawer closes much easier. These are only baby steps towards an organized life yet I feel better. But don’t ask why I’m collecting corks, as I don’t have a good answer. How about – I’m going to build a raft someday and sail to Tahiti? Ok, not likely.

Charlotte drives a wedge.

He got it!……! The news I’ve been waiting for and the answer I had hoped would not come: The bank in Charlotte, North Carolina has just offered Michael the prestigious job he just can’t refuse. Now it’s his turn to say, “Thanks, I‘ll take it, I can’t wait to start my job on a provisional basis and lead your company into glorious hegemony before lesser banking giants in the grand New South, but my wife and two children will come only if California falls into the sea, and by the way, I am co-owner and Chief Financial Officer of a dynamic and growing clothing company located in said state and have no intention of making a clean break from hearth, home or preexisting employment.” I was hoping he could just memorize that line and repeat it verbatim when he meets with his Human Resources representative today. And I reminded him of this a few times on the way to the airport. He said he’d take it under advisement. I’m not sure, but I think he might have been snickering a little bit when he was pretending to clear his throat. Ok Michael, go ahead and mock Maddie, but just wait until you catch the look on their faces when you tell them you’re thinking part-time and three time zones away for your new career.

I could spend more time worrying about his day in Charlotte and replaying in my mind what I what him to say, that he attach so many conditions that their heads start to spin, but I know he’s got to do it his own way and there may be some concessions that I’m not going to be comfortable with. BUT MOVING TO CHARLOTTE IS NOT AN OPTION! NEVER! EVER! (I just won’t go.)

I decided that I wouldn’t wait any longer to let Kerin know what’s going on, that Michael doesn’t have a sick aunt (or was it uncle? Cousin?) he’s been flying back and forth to visit. I was going to shock her with the Charlotte news while at the same time giving her a much-deserved promotion, but I do need to work on a few more details with Michael before making that part official.

I decided to tell Kerin of Michael’s plans over lunch at Santé, the restaurant at the Fairmont Mission Inn Sonoma (www.fairmont.com/sonoma) and said we’d finish with a manicure at the beautiful spa. Well, we were barely seated before Kerin told me that she knew that things have been strained between Michael and me, and that if we were getting a divorce (!!) we didn’t have to worry about her – she was loyal to both of us and wouldn’t choose sides. She said she believes in Red House and wants to stay on - regardless of our marital status. Whoa! She seemed relieved, but also a bit embarrassed when I told her what was really going on, like she should no longer trust her perceptions. I disagreed; she’s spot-on except for this instance. And anyway, I can imagine how the Charlotte trips must appear to the only other person in the office. Kerin hopes the bank job does work out for Michael. I tried to agree. Meanwhile, we enjoyed our lunch and subsequent paraffin dips. We both chose vibrant shades of red for our fingernails, as if to signal that we too are changing things up.

Science Fiction?

I want to make perfume! My hero of lifestyle design, Ralph Lauren, has multiple, successful lines. Every celeb of the moment has his/her 15 minutes of fragrance fame, so why shouldn’t Red House have a scent that reflects the good life in Napa? This is a thought I’ve had for months and want to explore further – starting in my garage. Stranger things have happened, right? The problem is that while I have the right instincts and artistic flair, I have no skills in hard science whatsoever. I know that an acid differs from a base and that’s about it. And despite a love of wine and its components, I haven’t had the best of luck at wine blending parties, tending to go through the motions and deferring to whoever knows what they are doing. If I am going to create a scent that represents the wine country elegance of Red House and not the contents of a backyard compost I need to gather a team of biophysicists and chemical engineers to carefully consider every detail, and to make sure that I don’t give in to my inclinations and make the dominant note Cabernet (!). But now is not the time for assembling a research laboratory full of experts so I’ll start with a little low budget experimentation and at least learn what I like.

This much I know. Napa is a place of many inspirations, a multi-sensorial experience. The food and wine come to mind first of course, the enjoyment enhanced by a mis-en-scène of glorious vineyards, mountains and valleys. The textures and colors combine with climate of abundant sunlight and cool nights to create the terroir. All I have to do is distill this down (!). Oh, but I won’t be done yet - I must then add a bit of European attitude – the casual but refined approach to life that led to the creation of Red House itself. What IS this attitude? A whiff of champagne and suntan lotion? Sea spray and citrus? As soon as I figure that out I’ll have my scent. Then I guess it’s sourcing, production, packaging and marketing. An army of lawyers to add to the scientists – yikes! I have no idea what I’m doing! At least I’m not wasting money. Yet.

My exploration has already started with hunting and gathering of essences. Rose is one of the most predominant and intensely scented flowers here and I know I want to include it. I’ve got dried petals and oils of multiple varieties, most of which smell exactly the same to my under-trained nose. My other must-include element is the woodsy and aromatic eucalyptus. I’ve collected bags of bark and leaves. It’s heavenly – I should make it into a mattress! Lavender has to be involved. Bay leaf, maybe? And mustard is beautiful in the spring – a sea of yellow everywhere. To me it represents the ” joie de vivre” of Red House, though I’m not sure any form of mustard belongs in cologne. I’ll need something earthy for the terroir – maybe some wild mushroom? Right now, my collection is piling up on Michael’s workbench. Soon, I’ll zip myself into an asbestos suit, gloves and goggles with my tongs and beakers and hot plates and start cooking! How can fine art fail to follow?

Free Samples!

Let me tell you a little tale about Oakland, a city I tend to avoid after dark. That said, a potential client, a referral, had called to schedule an evening appointment to see everything Red House had to offer. I was trying to find a daytime appointment that would work and wasn’t getting anywhere. This guy was even busier than I! We settled on an evening when I was sure Michael would be available to ride shotgun. (Well, that’s not quite the right image, particularly for Oakland.) Unfortunately, at the last minute he came down with the flu. That’s what happens when you fly a lot – first, you get run down from the hassle of coming and going. It’s the reality of ultra-stressed air travel today. Then, in a weakened state, you provide the perfect milieu for incubating your fellow-travelers germs, each of which has been constantly recirculated throughout the plane for five-plus hours at a time. Yuck. Nice wife that I am, I left him some chicken soup from Dean & DeLuca. This stuff is so good; it almost makes it worthwhile to be sick.

So it would be Kerin and I going to meet with the owner of a bike messenger agency. We discussed our presentation on the way. It seemed pretty straightforward. He’d probably want polo shirts that would give his fleet a consistent look, refined enough for the genteel office environments where the mysterious pouches of divorce papers, liens and private investigators’ photos would be signed for. Kerin had a good point though, these kamikaze bikers had such an alternative mien about them with their multiple facial piercings and Technicolor spiked hair that the shirts would not be what people noticed. Their jobs are dangerous and they like to look the part. In addition, they often entered elevators sweaty and out of breath, noses running… (We won’t recommend a long sleeve style lest it stand in for a Kleenex!) And were any of our colors going to be visible enough to keep the riders seen as they darted between lanes and parked cars?

We parked on the street, as close as possible to the building where we’d be meeting. There was one homeless guy pushing a cart full of what appeared to be recyclables - good for him. No sounds of gunfire or shady characters hanging out - a good sign. We lugged the sample cases, which were plenty heavy - especially by the end of the block. As I was about to press the intercom button to get us in, I couldn’t remember if I locked the car. Locking the car is important, that I knew. I didn’t want one of us to go alone to check and we sure were not going to drag the cases back to the car, so we stashed them in the alley around the corner and together walked back to the car, which did turn out to be locked. (Note to myself: try to use memory more effectively.) We walked back to the building, turned into the alley and…a sense of panic hit us. Where were the cases?! They were GONE! It only took five minutes for an opportunist to strike. I was furious! Now what? I called the client, who buzzed us in. I explained the situation and he tried to make me feel better by telling me of things he’s found at the entrance to the building. It didn’t help. I called to make a police report and was told I would need to come in, which added to my anger and frustration. Kerin and I did our best to present our “samples” via laptop, but the color registration is never ideal and I was so distracted anyway. And, found myself angry at Michael for no reason at all. Kerin kept her calm and did most of the talking. In the end, she convinced the client that the Double-Mercerized Polo (RH04) in Turquoise was the right choice for his crew.

We returned to the car, which was fortunately still where I parked it (and with all its wheels!) and headed over to the P.D. for paperwork. (Not a place I’d want to linger…) We returned home not expecting to hear anything. I was able to replace all my samples within days so no real hardship. Then, a few weeks later came the call - from the ALAMEDA COUNTY BOMB SQUAD!! I gasped audibly. They were going through some stolen property records and the matter of my two purloined cases had caught their eye in an “uh-oh moment.” It was they who had been alerted to the cases in the alley, by a homeless man who keeps an eye on things. They were a suspicious sight, partially hidden in the alley next to a building containing a law firm that has recently represented some ecoterrorism suspects. The unit had quietly removed the cases and EXPLODED THEM (!!!) at an undisclosed location with their handy robotic remote control vehicle. Apparently, things don’t need to tick to be trouble. And this sort of event is not as uncommon as I might have thought. I pictured colorful fragments of silk herringbone and pinpoint cotton raining down over the city. Well, I guess Red House has made its own small contribution to the war on terror. Whoa.

Skip the boardwalk.

Early this morning, Michael and I headed back to Napa by ourselves. Monique and John kindly offered to keep the kids for more Monterey exploring and a bit of beach and boardwalk time in Santa Cruz, blustery though it was. Natalie would come back with them too. I appreciated the time alone, as we needed to have some time to talk. We started our itinerary with the dazzlingly beautiful 17 Mile Drive through Pebble Beach. Oh, I could live here! Golf has never looked better.

We stopped for breakfast at the Stillwater Bar & Grill in The Lodge at Pebble Beach (www.pebblebeach.com). First though, we walked around the resort. It felt very gentrified, not at all like golf courses in Napa, but then this is one of the most amazing looking courses on earth. Good thing we were wearing resort-appropriate Red House pieces, the ivory cardigan for me (RH17) and black Silk Cavalry Twill Jacket for Michael (RH28) - instead of our new Monterey Bay Aquarium sweatshirts! Starchy though the atmosphere might be, you sure can’t beat the setting. This morning was foggy and serenely magical. I could spend all day on the terrace here sipping Bloody Marys and gazing out at Carmel Bay.

We didn’t talk as much about the job in Charlotte as I thought we would. The jist is that Michael wants the job and they want him – or they want the other candidate. He learned when he got there that there is another person they are also closely considering, but not to worry: the other’s qualifications are very different. That’s all they wanted to tell him. Hmmm…. And did Michael mention his geographical, family and preexisting career and transitional conditions? No. He reminded me that the right time to negotiate is when the offer is on the table. Sigh. So not only is he still in the running but I have to wait even longer to FIND OUT. I hate that.

The rest of the family got in pretty late. Apparently, the junk food and rides (bad combination!) of the Santa Cruz boardwalk were a real hit with the kids, especially the old wooden coaster. Monique said it was old and rickety and she ended up with a few bruises after multiple jerky rides. She was surprised it hasn’t been scrapped in favor of one of those smooth magnetic coasters as used by Disneyworld. (Thanks for taking a few hits for the team, sister! So sorry I missed it!) She said Santa Cruz reminded her of our childhood trips to Coney Island. Ah yes, the sad and creepy carnival atmosphere. And at dusk the Santa Cruz gangs sort of drift in and take over the boardwalk so Monique and Jon decided they’d leave rather abruptly. This didn’t go over well with Andrew, who, unbeknownst to them, stormed off onto the beach. For about eight scary minutes (that seemed much longer), Monique, Natalie, Jon and Delia looked for him, finally finding him pouting and kicking sand. This was probably due as much to a saltwater taffy and churros-meltdown than unhappiness to be leaving the unsavory boardwalk. Anyway, she didn’t want to call and scare us while they were looking. Yikes.

The one thing Michael and I agreed on today was to promise ourselves that no matter what, we’d be back to Pebble Beach next summer to see more of this incredible place. It would be The Concours d’Elegance for him, with its sparkling fleet of classic luxury and racing cars, and the Lodge spa and galleries in Carmel for me. We both want to see the Mission Carmel, built in 1771. And how about wineries?! We missed them all! Oh, happy thoughts, please supplant those I don’t want to think about!

Sardine City

Stefan had to stay home and study, so it was just family going to Monterey. And it made sense for us to stay overnight as it was a 3+ hour drive each way. Monique and Jon were still tired from their flight from Newark. Michael had just returned from Charlotte and his trip was even longer thanks to a connection in Chicago. (What, the reality of the commute doesn’t seem like so much fun after all?)

The drive down was long but lovely. As in the redwoods, I really got the sense of California as a vast and complex place. Truly inspiring – I’m so glad we chose this state to start Red House. It’s differently beautiful everywhere I have been. This trip, we saw farmlands showcasing the agricultural richness that makes this state’s economy more like a country’s. There’s Gilroy and its garlic. Watsonville produces most of America’s strawberries. And Salinas, the birthplace of John Steinbeck, is known as the Salad Bowl of America. Everywhere you look there’s spinach, cabbage, carrots, broccoli and artichokes. I just wanted to run out into the fields with a fork! They even grow watermelons here. Another treat was the incredibly fragrant eucalyptus trees lining the highway. They are so dramatic looking, with the wind whistling through their branches and papery bark. Also, apparently they can be a real fire hazard. When they burn they burn long and hard. Even so, I’ve got to have a small one for the yard.

I had been excited about seeing Steinbeck’s Cannery Row in downtown Monterey, but it was barely remembered, glimpsed behind endless tourist-y candy and souvenir shops. Still, seeing the wobbly shacks gave me a sense of what the life of a cannery worker must have been like here in Steinbeck’s day. A variety of the world’s people, lived like sardines and worked really awful hours canning actual sardines in cold, wet and stinky conditions. Makes my worst design jobs seem absolutely luxurious.

But here’s why we came - The Monterey Bay Aquarium. It has to be the best of its kind anywhere. (See www.mbayaq.org) We loved every exhibit - from the history of the fished-out Bay and how the canneries worked, to the dappled sunlight shining down on the towering Pacific kelp forest. It’s like the redwoods, only underwater! And, the aquarium provides little cards to keep in your wallet that tell you what fish you can eat without feeling guilty or filling up on mercury. Got to like that.

And speaking of food, only severe hunger made it possible to drag Andrew, Delia and Natalie from the aquarium. All of the adults were pretty worn out after a few hours dodging strollers and crowds. We had the family birthday feast at the Sardine Factory restaurant (www.sardinefactory.com.) Apparently, there are a few sardines left – or did we eat the last?! They were smoked and quite good. We loved the abalone chowder too, a favorite of President Reagan. And yes, it’s on the sustainable seafood list. Natalie had chosen the restaurant and there was a special cake for the birthday girl. Happy 20th, Natalie! You know what made us all happy? During dinner, Nat talked excitedly about the aquarium and nothing else. I wonder if there’s a spark of career interest… Could my niece be a future marine biologist?! I am going to encourage her!

We’re at the Hyatt, which has a nice lobby but felt dated everywhere else. I’ve seen this before – be wary of nice lobbies as the shag carpeting lurks just around the corner! Good night!

The sisters’ sit-down.

Of course there is no shortage of exciting and scenic things to do in the Bay Area, but Natalie surprised me by suggesting we all go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium for her birthday weekend. Andrew and Delia squealed in delight at the prospect. We had talked about going, but it’s a long trip down there – and back. Nat also wanted to see Santa Cruz, which has a beach with volleyball-playing hippies, a boardwalk and pier with tourists, surfers of all ages and an old wooden roller coaster, among other amusements. We’ll need to stay overnight Saturday, and Michael will balk as he’ll just be back from Charlotte but we’ll have fun.

Meanwhile, Monique and Jon are here. I’m swamped at work, and making sure the kids get baths, food, and to and from school - especially with Michael gone. Today though, I took my sister to one of my favorite restaurants in Sonoma, The Girl and The Fig. (www.thegirlandthefig.com - just look at the menu and see if it doesn’t ALL look delectable!) This is like nothing she has back in Saddlebrook, NJ so I knew she’d be impressed. We talked a lot about Natalie and what might be ahead for her. We both hope her great adventures will be mainly in the areas of employment and education. Nat does like it out here, and is having fun with Stefan - we know that much, but there’s not a lot of goal setting. Having lunch with Monique reminded me that she was the same way, and actually still is. Not that there’s anything wrong with planning life around charity auctions, tennis and spa appointments – nice work if you can get it, right? But it’s a bit…passive, and Natalie needs a female role model who is balancing more of life’s roles. That is, after all, why she was sent out to me. Not that I’ve had the influence I was hoping for, like encouraging her to develop interest in business. Her Red House internship was a disaster. Maybe it’ll take more time for Nat to develop the maturity to figure out how to go about getting what she wants.

This was just lunch - we couldn’t resolve all of Nat’s issues. (Or ours either!) We did agree to communicate more about what’s going on. (Until now, I hadn’t told Monique about the arrest, the “NaSte” tattoo - and even now couldn’t bring myself to mention the dynamite as the other info caused her to squirm quite a bit. So much for me thinking she’s blasé!) I was glad we were able to talk. Monique agreed to participate more in her daughter’s life. She needs to have an opinion, and I could do with fewer (!), but we both want the best for our Natalie.

I wrote up a list of fabulous wineries for Monique and Jon to visit. Plus, they’ll be doing a bit of used car shopping with their daughter. And I went back to the office to resolve issues that Kerin then called clients about. She is really taking control of every project I throw at her, I’m so glad that she’s here!

The Natalie Plan.

There’s always another shoe to drop, isn’t there? On my way to the meeting, Michael calls me with information that probably spiked my blood pressure enough to blow the sunroof right off of my car. At the same time my sister and her husband will be flying west, my husband will be flying east for another round of interviews in Charlotte, banking capital of the New South. He tells me to relax (I hate that), that it’s just the next two days and he’ll be back for the party and related Bay Area excursions. Not much I can do so I allow the anger to boil even though I know I shouldn’t. I rant loudly about the logo problem, the messy house, the gum, the early-arriving guests and the EIGHT STICKS OF DYNAMITE IN THE GARAGE! I just hate how low-key he can be about something Homeland Security would be all over, but he said to get the facts from Natalie before I react. He’s right (and that is what I’m doing) but I’m mad so I don’t care.

Yet, just as the suffocating weight of all I have to do and resolve threatens my already tenuous mood, one answer comes that takes some of the pressure. Natalie responded to my terse text message, in which I used as many exclamation points as I did letters: “Not a terrorist. Trust me.” Ok…. But what then? I can’t respond with questions while driving. It would have to wait.

The realtors were not as unreasonable as expected. Each thought a heart should be incorporated, but one wanted a pair of work gloves with a heart, another wanted a watering can sprinkling hearts, and another liked the original heart surrounding the house, only wanted the house replaced by the National Association of Realtors logo. These were all good and feasible-to-create images – I hadn’t expected that degree of clarity in their thinking. (I guess that in their line of work they have to be as good with details as I am.) I told them I would do some thumbnails of these three new potential logos and the project would be on hold until they had voted on their favorite.

I tried texting Nat again right after the meeting and no response, but she was at the house when I got there. Did my eyes deceive me? She was vacuuming! I hated to stop her but it was time for a long talk. She was really sorry about the dynamite – and had almost forgotten about it. (How could you forget about explosives under your bed?!) Her reason for having it was not as sinister as I had feared, though it wasn’t very smart. She and Stefan were going to try to blast a wine cave out of a hill at his parents’ winery as a gift for their 25th wedding anniversary! Thoughtful, but ill conceived. Now, I’m no engineer, but I don’t think it’s that easy to create a cave. For one thing, there are geological concerns, possibly utility lines - not to mention the likelihood of collateral damage, death and dismemberment. Natalie knew it was probably illegal to possess dynamite as they had tried a hardware store and even a gun shop (!) first with no success. (This isn’t Deadwood, S.D. – or 1857!) She and Stefan eventually bought their cache from some bikers who had bought it from someone on an Indian reservation. I told her she had to get the box out of the garage, though I lacked advice for what she should do with it after that. (Soak the sticks in a bucket of water?) Sigh. Nat was pretty contrite about what amounted to encouraging Andrew to shed his clothes in kindergarten too. And I learned her summer interest in concert promotion had been thwarted by the fact that Lynyrd Skynyrd was not interested in playing any vineyards – they were booked solid in venues of more reliable attendance (i.e. former Confederate states). I let her get back to cleaning. Later, the five of us sat down to a happy dinner to plan the weekend fun. I think we all need a little of that!

Under Siege

I COULD NOT believe what I was seeing- there had to be some explanation. “Dynamite” and “keep dry” were handwritten on the rather ordinary-looking cardboard box. I carefully pulled it out from under the bed and opened it - it wasn’t even taped. Sure enough, eight sticks in bubble wrap. Why would Natalie have these?! She works in a winery, not a mine! I had to find out what she was up to. Should I call the police? F.B.I.? The Bureau of Land Management? I decided not to get the government involved just yet, but I did move the box to the garage, placed it in the corner farthest from the house and put a bag of potting soil on top. (As if that would absorb the explosion!)

Just as I was about to text Natalie (which, I have learned, is the quickest way to get her to respond) her mother (my sister) called. The Tata Nano car they wanted to get for Natalie isn’t available yet so they are going to get her something here in California. And, since they now are not driving west they wanted to come to the birthday celebration five days early – tomorrow (!) and was that ok…? AAHH! What could I say? I had no real party plans in place yet, and a box of explosives in the garage, but sure, Monique! I gritted my teeth and told her it would be great to see her and Jon TOMORROW. (Hopefully, I said it without a shred of sarcasm.) Now what?!

I rushed to meet with the group of realtors who were suddenly not in agreement about the house encircled by a heart as the logo for their red polo shirts. Apparently, the do-gooding agents are not all with the same firm and petty disagreements had already arisen concerning the colors of flowers chosen to brighten up yards, and even which brand of window cleaner they should be using. (Sale price won out over green formula.) Ordinarily, this sort of issue would not be a problem for me: I’d hear all opinions and carefully consider and offer my own - except for the fact that the order was in and embroidery was already scheduled. I had to jump on this now if the logo was not to end up being a house broken in pieces. (Interesting that that image came to mind just after I stashed dynamite in my garage!)

The Trouble with 20.

I could coast a long time on the good feelings associated with generating new business. It’s no coincidence of course, but my enthusiasm is carrying over into a new love for football. I am actually watching the playoffs on TV. This also helps distract me from thinking about Michael’s potential job in Charlotte. I have another distraction: Natalie’s impending birthday. She’s about to turn 20, and as she lives with us (some of the time anyway) I feel that we should have a party for her. This task is way more difficult than the cupcakes and party favors of a Delia or Andrew party. I don’t know most of Nat’s friends, wouldn’t want to, and doubt she wants to mix them with family anyway. I compromised by inviting my sister and her husband out for a weekend visit. They haven’t seen their errant teen since last Christmas and now she’s about to be an ex-teen. I too, have been less than involved with Natalie lately as she’s been working at Stefan’s parents’ winery and living with their son in a tree house anyway, and well, we’ve had some drama of our own at this house... I realize that I never asked Nat what became of the idea for the “Skynyrd in the Vineyard” concert. Nor had I had that talk with her yet about her having told my son “clothing is optional”. She at least needs to know her philosophy does not extend to kindergarten circle time… I had really hoped that her time here (almost a year so far!) would lead to something other than various legal and professional mishaps, tattoos and a high school boyfriend. But Red House’s first and ex-intern has other plans, I just hope she knows what they might be.

My sister and her husband will be coming out and staying in our Natalie-occupied guest room, so I’ll need to move Nat into Delia’s tiny room, and plan the birthday dinner and one or two outings for the seven of us – eight if Stefan’s interested. I learned that Nat’s parents are surprising her with a car for her milestone birthday, an Indian Tata Nano that they are driving out from New Jersey themselves. (Why didn’t they just start from India? That would be fun!) They chose white –check it out at tatanano.com – looks like a golf ball, but what’s not to like about a $2,500 car?! And, as the insurance will be carried by someone other than myself I think this is a great idea!

I had asked Natalie several times to come help clean up the house for her parents’ arrival, but as she and her boyfriend have weatherproofed their tree house platform she’s over here pretty much only when Stefan has to study. I know I shouldn’t let her slide, but it is her birthday so I decided to just get the work done myself - starting with her room. I learned early on to insist that she keep the door closed but I was unprepared for the wasteland before me. Even with rubber gloves the task was daunting: dirty clothes covering every inch of floor, and underneath? Lots of science fair-worthy surprises - apple cores that had to date back to her arrival last winter, half-eaten containers of yogurt, and bottles of nail polish, with one missing its top! I got flat on the floor next to the bed and slowly lifted the dust ruffle - fearing vermin. And what did I see? A long line of used gum affixed to the bedrail! The globs were equidistant, suggesting purpose. How appalling! And what I saw next made me gasp - the most science fair-worthy surprise of all – a box labeled DYNAMITE!

Bow Down to the Silver and Black! Part III

Back in the “loge of luxury”, I tried to watch the game, but because of the curve of the stadium I could see that the suite next to ours was actually a command center for Oakland P.D. and various affiliated crime fighters. Now that was interesting! They had computers and miles of cables to stay in touch with areas of potential trouble and presumably, their munitions warehouse. I found it irresistible to watch guys in commando gear and aviator glasses with walkie-talkies and binoculars trained on the stands below. What were they pointing at? I had to find out! Knocking on their door probably wasn’t a good idea. An opportunity presented itself when one of the agents stepped out in the hallway to make a personal call, where I was doing the same thing. I waited until she was done and said hello. We got to talking, and she said there’s more trouble with fans when Oakland is winning, but that doesn’t happen all that much. (Ouch!) I told her about my job at Red House, and would you believe I found my business opportunity outside the box, literally – in the hallway?! This officer is part of a speaking group that has been looking into shirts for a group of officers culled from all over the Bay Area who speak in schools. Something less intimidating than their uniforms, but also not undercutting their authority as law enforcement officers. Definitely a button-down! The embroidered logo will be tricky, as it has to be general enough to please several different agencies. I said Red House could get what they needed with the budget they had. We scheduled a meeting for next week. I couldn’t wait to tell Michael that while he was watching guys falling on the grass I was expanding Red House’s client base! Touchdown!

Oh, while talking in the hallway, I saw that Natalie had responded to the photo I sent her – which turned out to be rapper/actor/sometimes-inmate SNOOP DOGG! I showed the officer the picture and she laughed and said he’s almost always at the games and no, has never gotten in trouble here. (Not that she knows of!)

Back in the box and back to work – would you believe I was not done yet?! I mentioned my potential deal with the police (during a timeout of course) and one of the guests mentioned that he’s part of a group of realtors who spruce up foreclosed homes, and that they too need a tasteful shirt that promotes their efforts. What a great idea! (The sprucing and the shirts!) The realtors perform a great service and self-promote at the same time. (And the fact is, they have some extra spare time at the present.) They aren’t wielding nail guns and replacing windows, but they clean them - and do yard work and plant flowers at unoccupied homes, preserving the property values of their neighbors. And who will the neighbors call when they want to buy or sell? Now that’s great P.R.! He will check his schedule and call me next week. Wow! Is football a great game or what?!

Bow Down to the Silver and Black! Part II

Once inside the stadium, Michael had to pull me through the sardine-can crowd to the suite elevators. A small but thuggy-looking guy in a coat many times larger than he was waiting in front of the doors. He was flanked by two massive men who were half-swatting away a pack of cell phone photographers. The guy was known! But who was he? I bet Natalie would know – I took a photo and sent it. The elevator was small so one of the bodyguards had to ride alone, which struck me as funny. I wished I could identify the celeb, oh well. He couldn’t be a football player, that’s for sure.

I saw a service cart go by, laden with champagne bottles –yes! Could the caviar and blini be far behind? Maybe not, but I soon learned none of it was destined for our suite. Instead, our host opted for a “different” catering package: light beer and margaritas made with what appeared to be a fluorescent green food coloring - like the stuff in The Incredible Hulk movie. Yuck. And nachos. After introductions it was time to turn around and brave the crowds again to go down to the field, where we would get to see the players warming up. This was a big honor, I was told, though I’d rather be gauging fellow guests’ business interest in Red House.

On the field, the players stretched and jogged. Most entertaining were the ultra-devoted fans assembled in the end zone. They never missed a home game. They believed. Their motto: “Real Men Wear Black” is not taken figuratively. The designer in me appreciated the efforts of so many to create such outrageously elaborate costumes. If the goal is to strike fear in the hearts of their competitors then they could not fail. The skull and crossbones are a motif. Bones of all kinds were strung as necklaces, bracelet and anklets. There were skulls on staffs to pound down during a touchdown, or impale opponents. There were silver wigs of massive proportions. I saw witch doctors, pirates, demons - all variations on the theme with faces painted in black and silver. I’m not sure who wore the most makeup, the fans or the Raiderettes. The field experience was surreal!

After the players were introduced they ran into their locker room, and as they did, they were touched by a phalanx of fans, who roared, chanted, screamed and otherwise blessed them with good juju and a little paint transfer – whatever it takes to win!

It was our turn to exit the field and get back to our tepid nachos. We too received the fans’ mojo as we left. I braced myself for the rain of hands and it wasn’t so bad. Dusting off some glitter from my charcoal gray pashmina (RH29) I could feel the instincts of a fan. I was a part of something big, and it was exciting! GO RAIDERS!

Bow down to the Silver and Black! Part 1

I’m not a football fan. I am though, always interested in anything my clients feel passionate about. In this case, the wild and wonderful Oakland Raiders. Last month, a client invited Michael and I to join him for a home game that he assured me would be quite memorable. The client had booked a luxury suite for the event and he is a restaurant owner so I knew the food would be good. How could we say no? Michael was thrilled to be going. Not only does he actually love football, but the game would allow him to avoid another episode of the dreaded Madeleine Inquisition with regards to his Charlotte job interview. Fortunately for our client, the Raiders were not playing the Carolina Panthers, as Michael’s loyalties are currently questionable at best.

My client said attending a Raiders home game is one of those things to do before you die, like climbing Mt. Everest. I had already decided against any bucket list items that might actually bring on death, but a sporting event sounded harmless enough.

Game day was awesome, sun shining in down on the valley – and then we got down to Oakland, where the skies looked more like… primer. We arrived three hours early to take advantage of the pregame festivities and yes, a little business too. I fully expected to be able to introduce the Red House brand to someone in the suite by first down and have their business by the end of the game.

We sure didn’t expect that parking was going to be a challenge this early, but we had arrived at the world’s largest parking lot. Fans had been situated so long it appeared they had set up camp. Turns out they actually had - the tailgate party is an Oakland institution. I saw the most elaborate barbecue set-ups, with tables and chairs sheltered by black and silver striped awnings, and even a smattering of actual recliners. And beer. Lots and lots of beer. The recycle bins were overflowing and it was 10:00 a.m.! There were trailers festooned in silver and black fringe, hawkers with Raider merchandise of all kinds – including shot glasses. Fans wouldn’t want to be short of those! (I bought a small, tasteful pin for my pashmina.) Many fans utilized the stereos in their cars to maximum effect, and he who has the biggest speakers wins! The vibration of the cacophony wars threatened to loosen a few of my fillings.

As we walked the mile or four (!) to the stadium, the volume increased. There was some friendly trash talking between the tailgate crowd and the few who dared file past them wearing the colors of the opposing team. But no one threw a rib or beer can. There were few children around – probably for good reason. A man staggered past me, placed one steadying hand on the side of the Porta-Potty while the other unzipped his fly and he relieved himself against the side of the structure. Oh. My. God. “Michael!” But again, my husband missed seeing what for some reason I always do. He was ten paces ahead admiring a classic Dodge Charger painted half silver and half black with a life-size (real?!) skull mounted on the hood. It too was memorable, but I wished he had seen the guy who couldn’t be bothered to STEP INTO the Porta-Potty!

Business and Grits.

My worst fears are realized: Michael loves Charlotte! But does Charlotte love him? Apparently, she, it - the world of megabanking does. He’s back for a second set of interviews and had meetings from early morning throughout the day, a regular whirlwind of fun. He was gushing with enthusiasm when he called after a dinner meeting follow-up with some of the execs he met with earlier. He said they were impressed with his education and career path, especially his role as co-owner of Red House. They like his brand of entrepreneurial spirit there, and his initial vibe was that he feels he’s what they are looking for. (OH NO!)

The city has it all, he says. Most of all, big plans for the future. Yeah, and big plates of grits and pork parts! I did a little research of my own – the city will soon have a NASCAR Hall of Fame, which means lots of Hooter’s restaurants sprouting up all around. Eeew. Michael said that what I consider “real” culture is coming too, museums of a nonautomotive nature, restaurants with chefs who know what escarole is and how to use it, and who don’t have packs of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeves of their grease-stained T-shirts. But it’s the South! Michael corrected me – the New South. Oh. He said that bankers wouldn’t be flocking to Charlotte if the city lacked the cultural amenities they’ve come to enjoy, like ten-page wine lists. I peppered him with more queries. No, he had not seen a single Confederate flag flying. Yes, there were grits at breakfast but only one VP in the conference room ate them. Michael himself had a blueberry scone. Where did they eat tonight? Savannah Red, a local denizen of southern food with fresh inspiration, oh, and a wine bar too. What about barbecue shacks? He did see one of these enroute from the airport. It featured a giant plastic pig on the roof with X’s where its eyes should have been. Uh-huh, exactly!

Much to my dismay, Michael did not mention his part-time and commuting requirements at any time during today’s interviews, and that his wife would leave Napa only if California fell into the sea. That discussion would happen later – once they offered him the job. (If, Michael!) He reminded me of one of his favorite aphorisms, “Always negotiate from a position of strength.” (I hope he feels faint the day he has to negotiate.)

He has a brief meeting in the morning with Human Resources to discuss the basic benefits, and he assured me he’d be home for “supper”. I think he was being facetious, but I’ll see if Dean & DeLuca has any pickled pig’s feet I can surprise him with.

Good night, ya’all!